


Dazed

by TheAutumnLeaves



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Darth Vader is not in a good place, Luke captured, Luke in imperial custody, Vader saves Luke, accidental mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 05:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17698844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAutumnLeaves/pseuds/TheAutumnLeaves
Summary: When captured by Imperials, Luke decides to try to reach out to his father, and accidentally hits on the one time Vader's mind is not at its most guarded state. He's not trying to control his father, but his call, and the trust placed in Vader, cause the Sith's mind to become a bit muddled.





	Dazed

_Father!_

Vader awoke from a troubled sleep, feeling the boy’s breath still in his mind. The ship was silent, the buzz of constant movement quieted to a barely perceptible murmur that blended in with the hum of the engines.

Slowly, he got to his feet, feeling almost as if he was moving in a dream, even as his vision was once again bathed in red.

Luke’s cry hadn’t been terrified, hadn’t been pained… He had just been calling, calling his father for help, and Vader was glad to oblige. His son was close, his salvation easily achieved.

He walked through the halls of the _Executor_ , following the shining thread of his son’s presence, down to the prison block.

He hadn’t received any indication of his son’s capture, yet, but the boy was seated on the metal cot of the cell, not sprawled on the floor, and he bore no more than a few light bruises. Perhaps they had yet to even identify him.

At the sight of his father, Luke recoiled, his left hand flying to his right wrist as he leaned away from the Sith, to the back of his cell.

“It was you that called for me,” Vader said, bemused at his son’s fear. The galaxy still felt unreal, everything too perfect, too easy, his son glowing with innocent, anxious questioning. “I am merely responding.”

“I called for you?” Luke asked, and even his tone seemed touched by the strange, gentle fog of Vader’s world. He didn’t know what was causing it, only that it was kind, and good.

“Indeed, you did, my son.”

A gesture, and the lock deactivated, the door sliding open. He offered his son his hand, waiting impatiently to feel his son’s hand in his. Slowly, the boy offered it, delicately placing his prosthetic in Vader’s palm. It was strange to see the boy’s false skin contrasted with his glove. So long since another had dared to touch him, even the boy’s carefully matched tan seeming deathly pale in his hand.

Still, he pulled his son to his feet, swept him out into the hallway.

“Where are you taking me?” Luke asked, uncertainly hanging back, although he made no effort to pull his hand free.

“I believed you would wish to return home,” Vader said, looking on the boy in surprise, still comfortably muddled. “I do not imagine that you wished to remain in your cell.”

“Well, no,” Luke said. “But I don’t exactly consider anywhere on this ship to be home.”

Deep below the gentle haze, that hurt. Deep, deep in his most private being, it was like the dull twisting of a knife, so often turned that it had made a deep bore hole, and he could hardly feel it anymore.

“That is a concern for another day,” he said. He didn’t feel anger at his son’s rejection, already the echo of old pain was leaving him again. His son’s hand was warm, the readouts of his suit’s monitors informed him, and it was in his own hand. That was enough.

Luke looked at him in confusion, eyes wide, his head tipped back to take in Vader’s mask. He didn’t fight, and perhaps had even squeezed back, tripped after Vader as he began to move away from the cell.

Vader was barely aware of the gaze of his men as he brought his child back to his quarters. It was inconsequential, their attention easily turned away again, the moment immediately forgotten, with only a brush of the Force.

And Luke did not struggle in his grasp. The boy had difficulty keeping up, yes, but Vader did not mind, slowed his pace for his child to catch up again.

When they reached his quarters again, he waited until the doors were closed before pulling Luke before him, looking down into the boy’s deep blue eyes, confusion etched in every line of his face.

“What are you _doing_ , Father?”

“You called for me,” he answered again, gently touching Luke’s face, trying to familiarize himself with the tactile sense of his son.

Luke pulled away in confusion, trying to dodge his fingertips, but not escape from his arms. “I didn’t expect _this_.”

“And what would you have preferred?” Vader asked lightly. He was not at all concerned by the boy’s evasion, he was acting uncharacteristically. The haze of comfort had not faded, if anything, it had been intensified by his proximity to his child.

“I don’t know!” Luke admitted, finally suffering himself to be considered, allowing Vader’s fingertips to find his face again, before cautiously leaning into his palm. “I didn’t really expect you to answer.”

At the words, the quality of his interest in his son changed somewhat. It was no longer just a comfortable fog, a walking daydream where he met his son, where his child was alive and well, and willing to be in his presence. Now, that fairy-tale ending was tempered a bit by concern, by the reminder of who he was, and what he had done and not done in relation to his child.

“I will always answer,” he said, supporting the rebel, before pulling him comfortably into his arms to hold.

He wanted nothing more in the galaxy than to touch his son’s face, feel his presence, and drink in everything that he had not been able to destroy, but Luke had other needs, desperate longing that he could feel bubbling under his confused expression.

After all, he hardly offered the visage of an ideal father, as Luke offered one of a perfect son. His embrace was the only thing vaguely reminiscent of the childhood dreams Luke may have held.

“Do you feel okay?” Luke asked uncertainly from his arms.

It was not lost on Vader that the boy leaned into his embrace.

“A little strange,” he admitted, running his fingers through Luke’s hair. He couldn’t be bothered to deny it, the fog still just present enough to take the edge off worrying about being candid with his son.

“Oh. Okay.” Luke fell silent, leaning safely against Vader, and the last of the fog dissipated at last.

Carefully, Vader shuffled to a bench, slowly taking a seat, and easing Luke down next to him to rest under his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Luke murmured.

Vader looked down at him, saw his eyes closed, brows up a little in the middle, apparently very apologetic.

“For what?” he asked blankly. His son had called him, had accepted his touch, was even now sitting under his arm when it would likely have been a good chance to run.

“I think the strange is… me?” Luke admitted nervously, before hurriedly adding, “I didn’t mean to, honest! But I… I felt you were… not as guarded and… I just didn’t want you to question it.”

Ah. The Force. His son had manipulated him.

“I…” he hesitated. He didn’t want to frighten his son. He was relishing this opportunity to hold him, and the fact that he had freed him from his own custody didn’t particularly bother him. Still, the fact that the boy, the last Jedi in the galaxy, had invaded his mind was uncomfortable. Palpatine took liberties with his thoughts quite enough –

But Luke would not have such dark intentions. He’d hardly unearthed anything but a new manifestation of Vader’s blurred and unreal existence.

It was almost nice.

“I do not mind.”

“I only meant it to be… be reassuring,” Luke stammered, “I didn’t realize you’d act differently, I… I swear, this isn’t what I do! I didn’t mean to control you!”

To control him. Duly, Vader realized that that must have been what it was. He was easy to control. Orders brought with them a comfortable lack of consequence these days, provided he did as he was told.

“It is alright,” he assured again, slowly stroking his son’s hair.

It was fitting that Padmé’s son should have control of him. He had wanted to follow her wishes, and in her absence… Luke was commanding enough.

“I won’t allow them to hurt you,” he promised finally.

If orders could still be numbing, if Luke would continue to command him simply… he could leave Palpatine. He could become enforcer for his child, who he selfishly dared to think would be a kinder master.

His own comfort didn’t matter, he reminded himself. Luke was more deserving of support than Palpatine was, he had little by way of personal demands, was genuinely fighting to improve the galaxy. Vader would do whatever he could for Luke, he would forgive him for any more personal agendas, he… he would at least get to watch his son. Watch him on the battlefield, watch him growing up as a leader.

Luke had fallen silent in his arms, apparently just thinking, perhaps considering how best to escape, even now.

“I will return you to the Alliance.”

“What?!” Luke demanded, his eyes springing open, his spine straightening to stare bug eyed at Vader. “The Alliance?! You can’t take me there, I can’t tell you where it is!”

“I hardly need to be told,” Vader answered, standing again, allowing his son to remain on the bench. “You rest for a moment,” he said firmly, pointing at his new superior. “I will prepare useful supplies.”

“What?” Luke called after him, as he turned and headed for his personal communications and documents. A moment later, there was the pounding of feet as the boy skidded into his office. “What are you doing?”

“I do not intend to spend the rest of my existence in servitude to the Emperor,” Vader informed him, beginning massive data transfers as Luke stood open mouthed at the door. “I will do what I can for your cause.”

He felt Luke’s emotions rage, thought distantly that his first service should be to show him how to shield, that it was inappropriate for his servant to see so clearly. The boy was confused, struggling with a sense of elation that somehow did not fill his heart, held at bay by the confusion.

“That’s… that’s great!”

The joy did not win out over the uncertainty.

“Why… why now? Why not before? Why not at Bespin?”

The hurt he could sense at the memory of the events was eclipsed by Luke’s confusion.

“I did not understand at Bespin,” he answered simply, placing the first of the data drives in Luke’s hand before continuing his gathering of intel. “I had been in the Emperor’s thrall for a very long time, and you did not seem strong enough to…”

To what? To control him? To order him around, as he was allowing now? Luke could still hardly beat him in a fight, which was all he had given him the opportunity to do at Bespin. Perhaps something more abstract, perhaps it was the fact that Luke was standing tall now, was daring to interrogate him.

“To make the decisions necessary to protect yourself.”

Yes, that was it. Luke had come to Vader to protect his friends, a dangerous motive to hold front and centre. It had put Luke at risk of losing his own freedom, even his own life, and that had been unacceptable. He had believed that Luke would stand a better chance of living under the Emperor than with the Alliance.

This attempt, where Luke had reached into his violent mind, and successfully coaxed freedom from him, assured him that Luke would at least be too strong for him to kill. His son could keep him under control.

“I’d been doing fine,” Luke protested, accepting a stack of flimsi, too classified to even put into digital form.

“You had not,” Vader said firmly, retrieving a number of code splicers. “You had nearly died just weeks earlier on Hoth, which intelligence reports was more characteristic than your brief disappearance.”

Luke had turned pink around the ears, and Vader fought with himself, unsure if he should allow himself to laugh at the consternated rebel, now that he was his master.

“You got me closer to dying than I had yet,” he muttered.

“Be that as it may,” Vader answered firmly, opening a drawer in his desk, and riffling through accumulated clutter until he found an old cardboard box. Opening it, he delicately removed a few pieces of fine jewellery, placing them carefully in a pouch on his belt.

“What are those?” Luke asked curiously, following after him, adjusting his grip on the flimsi as he tried to get a peek at the box’s contents.

“Memento mori.”

For a moment, he allowed himself to look at one resin necklace, encasing a single curl of Padmé’s hair, coiled around a small portrait of her, before offering it to Luke.

“I suppose they might do you more good than they have me.”

Luke managed to get the stack of flimsi under his arm, and accepted the necklace, gazing at it in fascination.

“You didn’t really strike me as the type,” he admitted, looking up from it, though Vader could see and sense the gentleness with which he cradled the piece.

“I tried a great many things to accept her death,” Vader answered.

He was glad that Luke had not asked the identity of the woman in the photo, that he seemed to have instinctively understood. Still, something about not having been asked stung, and he delicately offered Luke another piece, wishing only to be able to mourn with him.

“She would have loved you very much,” he said finally, risking it only so he could see her son smile.

“Thank you,” Luke murmured, running his thumb over the picture slowly.

A sense of great melancholy echoed through the Force, and Vader realized duly that Luke could not identify his mother by name, that he was perhaps holding onto the first clue he had ever had to her identity. He could not bring himself to volunteer the information right now, he allowed himself that weakness. But he tried to strengthen himself, to be ready if Luke should ask.

“And you’re just… going to come home?”

Again, his wide eyes were turned on Vader, his fingers tightening around the necklace.

“That is my intent,” he answered simply. He saw no need to go into his reasons, it should have simply been enough that he had them, and was coming into Luke’s servitude now.

“Is it really that easy?” Luke asked uncertainly, tucking the two memento mori away in his own pocket. “Master Yoda told me it wasn’t possible at all, and -,”

He broke off, seeming to realize what he had let slip.

The revelation was nothing more than a dull understanding to Vader. Of course, Yoda, the most irritating and conceited of the Jedi Masters would have had a chance to touch his son’s life. He could not bring himself to care.

“I will hardly be a Jedi,” he answered simply, holding out his hands to reclaim Luke’s load. “It is debateable whether I would even cease to be a Sith.”

Luke wrapped his arms around the stack of flimsi, retreating somewhat. “But you want me to let you come into an Alliance base?”

“You have nothing to be concerned about,” Vader promised, using the Force to wrest the papers again, and watching with a tinge of amusement as Luke immediately folded his arms protectively over his chest. “I will not do anything you do not order.”

“I – What?” Luke asked, his stance falling as he blinked at Vader in surprise. “Why?”

“You are more deserving of my service,” Vader said, reaching out again, allowing himself to stroke Luke’s hair. “I will entrust you with all I have.”

Slowly, he knelt, meaning it almost as a joke, an olive branch extended to the child who had little reason to trust him.

“No!” Luke protested, stepping back again, “I don’t want that!”

Vader unhooked his lightsaber from his belt, offering it to the young Jedi. “I promised my life to your mother, young one. You are what remains of her, and a better master than my own.”

“Not like this!” Luke protested, darting forwards to reclaim the stack of flimsi, resuming using it as a shield. “You didn’t bow to her, did you? She didn’t… she didn’t _own_ you.”

“Would I that she had,” Vader murmured, his lightsaber still held out. “I was given too much freedom. It was in err.”

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine life as Padmé’s slave, leaving behind his foolish claim that he was a person, and just basking in her presence, protecting and serving her as she had deserved. If he could have seen her daily, slept in her home, and waited on her… if only his immense, dehumanizing power had not been harnessed, if he could have remained a mere slave…

“Father…” Luke’s distress radiated through the Force, making Vader’s fingertips tremble with the resonance of it.

“I am giving up my freedom, now,” Vader explained gently. He knew the look in Luke’s eyes, realized that his boy must have known their family’s history. “My freedom has brought nothing but pain. Let me serve you, at last.”

“I don’t want –,”

“Please,” Vader begged, and now exhaustion threatened to take him. He had fought for freedom for so long, had truly believed it was possible and advisable. In a way, he felt freer now, accepting his fate as a slave once again, trusting that this time, he was putting his life in kind hands, that Luke would not abuse him as Palpatine had. He wanted to let go of the trappings of his struggle and fall into comfortable servitude.

Luke stepped forwards, and Vader’s next rattling breath was one of relief.

He wanted his son to take this lightsaber, as the boy had inherited the blue one, to take it, and the expectation of Anakin Skywalker away.

Instead, Luke folded Vader’s fingers back over it.

“I don’t want to own you,” he murmured, kneeling as well.

“Then I will continue to hurt your friends,” Vader said, letting his distress ring clear to Luke. It was not a threat, it was inevitable, he knew that without conflicting orders, he would fall back under Palpatine’s ownership, and then, he could not give up the last of his freedom. He couldn’t live with that dark mind his only companion.

“Why?” Luke asked. “Couldn’t you just come home with me, as my father?”

Vader shook his head, allowing Luke to push his extended arm down, distantly recognizing the discomfort of having held it aloft. “Your friends would never accept that. They know my choices are not to be trusted.”

For a fleeting moment, he considered simply offering his servitude to Luke’s friends, but he could not imagine giving himself to a vengeful stranger.

“Please, little one. You are the only one who can end this. Please.”

He wanted to retreat back into Luke’s gentle orders, the way he had called Vader’s very soul, had left him following it, comfortably numb.

“I won’t… I can’t…” Luke was stammering, finally putting the papers down as he huddled, curling his arms tight around his midsection. “Please.”

Vader’s heart ached to see his child hurting, and he pulled the boy closer with the Force, rearranging his bangs on his forehead gently, caressing his head. “There is no need to be afraid, child. I would never allow harm to come to you again.”

With the words, the tears accumulating in Luke’s eyes began to flow, running over his cheeks as the boy took a ragged gasp, and folded in on himself.

“No,” Vader said, reaching out uncertainly and rubbing the child’s back. “No, you don’t need to cry, I will protect you, now.”

The thought that his son’s beautiful face was hidden, contorted with tears, hurt. He had not intended to make him cry, he was trying to promise him that his pain was over, that his father would no longer fight against him. He wanted only to be rendered harmless, so he could love his child in safety.

“Please, Angel,” he murmured, applying the old nickname so easily to her perfect child. “I have to protect you.”

He could translate the dreams of serving Padmé, he told himself. He could trade her beautiful cottage on Naboo for whatever dingy bunk Luke called home, he could forget the idea of pampering her for fighting at Luke’s side. He could dismiss the idea of being a warm pair of arms for her and replace it with whatever comfort his ruined body could bring to Luke. He could forget the dreams of sleeping next to her, in chains, for eternity.

He could be Luke’s.

“Come, little one,” he said at last, getting to his feet and collecting the papers. “Your friends need you.”

At the words, Luke took a shaking breath, and straightened, wiping his tears away with the sleeves of his flight suit.

He had not accepted Vader’s lightsaber, but Vader clipped it on the boy’s belt when he reached down to help him to his feet.

There was still pampering to be done, he assured himself, tidying the boy’s hair, and dabbing away a few more tears. There would still be the potential of warmth between service.

“You are your mother’s son,” he assured gently, squeezing Luke’s shoulders, meeting his eyes. “And she would have been so proud.”

**Author's Note:**

> Luke is really, really not trying to control his father. He had no idea what was happening, he couldn't have been more confused when Vader actually showed up. Luke loves his father, and his using the Force in any emotion-modifying way would've just been a gentle nudge of "don't worry, I just need help and won't act against you" and Vader is just... damaged.


End file.
